| "My November Guest" Robert Frost My sorrow, when she's here with me, Thinks these dark days of autumn rain Are as beautiful as days can be; She loves the bare, withered tree; She walks the sodden pasture lane. Her pleasure will not let me stay. She talks and I am fain to list: She's glad the birds are gone away, She's glad her simple worsted gray Is silver now with clinging mist. The desolate, deserted trees, The faded earth, the heavy sky, The beauties she so truly sees, And vexes me for reason why. Not yesterday I learned to know The love of bare November days Beore the coming of the snow, But it were vain to tell her so, And they are better for her praise. |
| "The Rainbow" David McCord The rainbow arches in the sky, But in the earth it ends; But if you ask the reason why, They'll tell you: "That depends." It never comes without the rain, Nor goes without the sun; But though you try with might and main, You'll never catch me one. Perhaps you'll see it once a year, Perhaps you'll say: "No twice."; But every time it does appear, It's very clean and nice. If I were God, I'd like to win At sun-and-moon croquet: I'd drive the rainbow-wickets in And ask someone to play. |
| "Lesson" Carl Sandburg In early April the trees end their winter waiting with a creep of green on branches. In early October the trees listen for a wind crying, for leaves whirling. The face of the river by night holds a scatter of stars and the silence of summer blossoms falling to the moving water. Come clean with a child heart. Laugh as peaches in the summer wind. Let rain on a house roof be a song. Let the writing on your face be a smell of apple orchards in late June. |
| "Sun Dancer" Carl Sandburg Spider, you have long silver legs. You may spin diagrams of doom. Your patterns may throw fine glints Festooned from wandering silk. It may be neither art nor money Nor calisthenics or engineering. No man trusts any woman and vice versa. ALl men love all women and vice versa. All friends cherish each other. ANd there are triflers who flirt with death. Spider, you have long silver legs. |
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